Grandpa used to say a silly little limerick to us as kids “I
see said the blind man to his deaf wife, as he picked up his hammer and saw.”
St. John tells us that the Angel said to him, LOOK, and I
turned and I saw…
I am at the ocean today and all this past week. Anyone that knows me knows that I love the
ocean. I sat on the Rock that I always
sit on and I listened again. It seems
like it would be easy to swim out and reach the Horizon. It’s not that far away really, it is really
just right there. The problem is that
when you go looking for something you aren’t satisfied with the object of your first
glance. The further you go the further
the Horizon is to you. It moves away
from you. That’s what I saw as I looked
at it from that Rock.
I looked at the Seals in the ocean; they peek out of the
water and float like a bobber on the top of a small wave. They dive directly into the big waves, not
sure why I can’t see what they're doing.
Similar dilemma with the birds: they
float, they fly, they dive, they always eat.
They seem to be right where they want to be. But they are still short of the Horizon by a
long shot. It’s like they have no clue
what is out there for them. I do.
Walk with me for a minute along the shore. It's easier to walk on the sand that has been
washed by the ocean. There’s that line
where the tide has soaked the ground and made the normally loose sand more firm. But the closer you get and the easier it is
to walk the more imminent the potential danger “Rip Tides” the signs warn “NO
LIFEGUARD.” It’s the most dangerous
place near the edge. As I walk further from the shoreline the sand
is dry and harder to walk in. But you
can smell that ocean so clean, and so self-sufficient. It contains all that it needs to survive and
to thrive. The closer that I walk to the
ocean, the more firm and solid my footsteps become and my feet don’t sink and
slide back as I try to walk.
So that’s the beach, that’s the shoreline, but the goal is
always the Horizon. I want to reach
that. Not by plane or boat, or some
other form of transportation, but me, I want to reach it. It can’t really move. It doesn’t really get further as I move
toward it. It just makes no sense. That edge is where I need to be, and I will
reach it.
Looking down from the Rock, and having been sitting here for
about one hour, and listening to the crashing tide hitting the base of the
Rock. The Rock never moves, it is so
incredible to sit on it and look out at that Horizon. But back to the tide, listen to the sound of
the tide when you are here. It always
sounds the same but never the same. The
sound is great. The smell is just as
good, salty, fishy, sandy, and full of clean oxygen. Man, you can really breathe out here. The sound and the smell are great but you can’t
get over the feel of that tide as the waves crash on the Rock. A mist, almost imperceptible, cools your face
and any exposed skin on your body. For
me it’s typically my face, neck and arms.
Never really on the small of my back, that would be weird. Sound, smell, feel, it nearly transports me
from the Rock to that Horizon.
Then I looked down and I saw the Tide from the Rock. It was hitting the Rock but not angrily rather
like it was saying “We’re together like we always have been.” See, Creation is all about God, it is NOT
God, but it proves God, His glory, His power, His beauty, His sweetness, His
very character to the extent we can see it.
And for what seemed like the first time I Saw the Horizon in
the Tide. It doesn’t move away, It comes
to us if we are on the Rock and it speaks to us, and breathes with us and
touches our face and neck.
